


Bedside Manner

by otherwiseestella



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Bladder Control, Comeplay, Consensual Somnophilia, Domestic Fluff, Eggsy gets the flu, Flu, Fluff and Smut, Harry is an extremely good but inappropriate nurse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Merlin is extremely devious, Merlin watches from afar, Multi, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Sickfic, Voyeurism, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-14 08:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherwiseestella/pseuds/otherwiseestella
Summary: ‘It is ‘flu,’ Dr. Bajwa explains patiently.  ‘Just not a strain commonly vaccinated against. Syria, wasn’t it? That’ll be where he picked it up.’Eggsy looks so hopeless, all curled up in the Infirmary bed, cheeks flushed, skin pricked with fever-sweat. He’s been out for twelve hours, coming round enough to hiss in pain when they popped the cannula in for the saline IV, then back down into a snuffly, snotty sleep.~~~Eggsy's sick, got a nasty case of flu, and someone needs to stay by his bedside.Harry’s a veritable Florence Nightingale, even if his motives aren't entirely pure, and he's never been very good at denying himself pleasures.And if Eggsy's condition means he's at risk of losing control of his bodily functions, well, it would be rude for Harry not to help him out in any way he can - that is, after all, a nurse's job.(This fic contains pee! So please don't read if it squicks you!)





	1. Snuffly and Snotty

‘It is ‘flu,’ Dr. Bajwa explains patiently. ‘Just not of the strain commonly vaccinated against. Syria, wasn’t it? That’ll be where he picked it up.’

‘And so he can’t…?’

‘I’m on the list, Harry,’ Merlin's voice sounds weary in his ear. ‘Key organisational workers to be quarantined. He’s not coming home unless you want me to sleep at HQ until he’s better.’

But Eggsy looks so hopeless, all curled up in the Infirmary bed, cheeks flushed, skin pricked with fever-sweat. He’s been out for twelve hours, coming round enough to hiss in pain when they popped the cannula in for the saline IV, then back down into a snuffly, snotty sleep.

‘We can have him transferred to his suite later, if you like. Once he’s had the saline, get a nurse to pop round with oral pain relief, keep an eye on his vitals.’ Dr Bajwa offers Harry a pretty little smile, and he idly considers flirting before her face shifts back to business. ‘Heaven knows, I’d rather not have him in here. Last thing we need.’

‘Sensible plan. Let me know once he’s transferred.’ He flashes her a smile in return, turns on his heel.

‘Good thing I love you,’ he says quietly to Merlin over comms. ‘Did you get a look at him?’

Merlin makes a noise. ‘Fever looks bad. Can’t say I’m sad to be missing that.’

‘I won’t get it.’ And he probably won’t, a mixture of the Kingsman-issue supplements and Harry’s iron immune system.

‘You’d better bloody not, you’re off to Yerevan in three days.’

‘You’ll be alright at home?’

Merlin laughs. ‘If I get there. Bors is fucking about in Northern Italy, and Lancelot’s due to report in, later.’

There’s a little pause, Harry beeping through the Infirmary double-doors.

‘And Harry?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Don’t wear him out too badly. I’d forgotten about this little … pleasure of yours.’

‘I’ll be a veritable Florence Nightingale.’

In the depths of the control room, Merlin snorts quietly.

 

Eggsy is transferred a few hours later. He shuffles in on the arm of a nurse, still wearing an Infirmary gown and, Harry notices when he turns, no pants.

Harry’s been sitting at the desk in the suite, doing exactly the sort of tedious, brain-numbing paperwork that serves to silence the thrum in the back of his head that’s been there since Eggsy was first admitted.

‘There you are, love,’ She’s saying as she tucks him in. ‘Right back to sleep with you, now.’

They all coddle Eggsy. He’s not surprised, the way he remembers birthdays, names of children, hobbies. For all that Harry’s a professional charmer, there’s something about Eggsy’s sincere engagement he’s never quite had the interest to develop.

What makes his breath catch, though, is that although the nurse flashes him a smile, Eggsy doesn’t notice him at all. God, he must be absolutely out of it.

Once she’s finished fussing – ‘And I’ll be back in three hours, but if you need me, that’s what that button is for’ – he moves the desk chair across the room, positions it beside the bed. Sits, spreading the reports he has to read and sign out over the edge of the duvet, and without thinking, curls his hand into Eggsy’s.

His hand is like fire, palm swampy, and this close Harry can smell the sour illness smell, see where he’s flushed right down to his collarbone. When Harry takes his hand, Eggsy twitches. He opens his mouth, snuffles indecorously. Swipes his tongue across his lips, leaving a wet trail of spit. Presses his head back across the pillow as if he’s trying to back away from something, and then kicks one leg out.

Harry’s papers spray across the room in a beautiful fluttering arc as the duvet on the bed flies off.

Underneath, the Infirmary gown’s come loose, and Eggsy’s wriggling like an eel to be rid of it.

Harry slides his hands – so cool next to the heat of Eggsy’s body – round to untie the ribbons at the neck. Once he’s manoeuvred the gown off, Eggsy seems to still. The room is warm, but he’s got goosebumps, for all the sheet is already rucked and sweaty.

It makes Harry’s mouth dry.

He forces himself to stand, ignoring the fact he’s half-hard, collects his report pages, re-orders them, and spends the next two hours reading through them, until Eggsy wakes up. The whole way through his sleep, Eggsy makes occasional whickery outbreaths, like an over-worked horse, and his fingers tighten and loosen unconsciously over Harry’s.

‘I’m looping it all to the private server for later’, Merlin murmurs gently in his ear at one point. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be on the tablet at home.’

Harry breathes his thanks into the still room.

‘Oh, he is flushed, isn’t he?’ And Merlin’s tone is light and wicked. ‘Hope he’s staying hydrated.’

Eggsy breathes out then, and his eyes suddenly fly open as if he isn’t sure where is he. When he sees Harry, he smiles, though it’s sleepy and dim.

‘A’ight Harry?’

‘Hello, Eggsy.’

He watches as Eggsy stretches, stiff and sore and hot – and very much naked, under only the smallest vestiges of re-tucked duvet.

‘S’Merlin there?’ Eggsy asks, croakily, staring at Harry – at Merlin – through the glasses.

‘He is, yes – but you’re too ill to be allowed near him, so it’s just me until you’ve got the all clear.’

‘Do feel fuckin’ awful.’

‘Flu, apparently.’

Eggsy makes to sit up, and Harry’s on him in a second, helping plump pillows, passing water.

‘It fuckin’ isn’t, is it? I’m meant to be out to Guadalajara in…’ The rest is cut off by coughing, great rib-cracking whoops that rock Eggsy’s whole body.

‘Christ,’ he manages, when he can draw breath, and he squeezes Harry’s hand tightly.

‘They’ve reassigned it to Geraint, so don’t worry about it. Last thing Mexico needs is you causing an outbreak of Syrian flu.’

They sit together in comfortable silence, interrupted only by Eggsy sniffling and occasionally drinking water, until –

‘Harry, if that’s a hard-on you need to have a word with yourself.’

He looks up, then, sees Eggsy’s eyes, fever-bright, one eyebrow arched.

‘I’m afraid it is,’ Harry replies levelly, though he knows there’s heat in his eyes. ‘And believe me, I have. But you look so very…’

‘Rank?’

‘Rumpled, I was reaching for. Pretty. And you’re all…’ He gestures expansively.

‘Warm and sweaty?’

‘Yes. As if you’ve just fucked me.’ Harry lets the fricative and the plosive roll soft-hard over his mouth, watches as Eggsy bites his lip involuntarily. Lovely, sweet boy, who looks torn between exasperation and fondness.

They’re both quiet for a minute, except Harry’s slightly elevated breath. Eggsy’s breathing hard, too, but that could just be his blocked sinuses.

‘You wanna come on me while I’m sleeping, Harry?’

And the way Eggsy asks it is so gentle, so quiet and filthy and unexpected that it winds Harry more effectively than a punch to the solar plexus.

He barely bites back a whine and looks at Eggsy with what he knows must be slack-jawed surprise.

God, this beautiful, filthy, endlessly surprising boy. He can feel himself blinking, feel a grin forming which won’t be either flattering or seductive, but who can blame him, with this unwell angel, all red lips and sweaty grubby hair and strong shoulders flushed with fever offering him such liberty with his body as if it were nothing.

Eggsy traces his reaction with his shining eyes. ‘That got your interest, you perv.’

He nods at the glasses – funny, how these days Harry knows exactly which gestures are for Merlin, and which are for him – ‘You getting this, guv?’

Merlin’s voice chimes low into the room. ‘I’m leaving you two to get on with this. Kick him out if you need to, don’t let him bugger up your _medically mandated bedrest_ just so he can get his jollies.’

‘Plannin’ on sleeping through it,’ Eggsy says with a smile, and yawns. ‘Not fit for much else, and I’m gonna wake up grubby anyway.’

He turns to Harry fondly. ‘So what d’you like about it?’

This always surprises Harry. The lack of judgment, the lack of squeamish disgust. Just interest. There’s a lot to be said for Eggsy’s acceptance – always questioning, but never hostile. He’s seen plenty he doesn’t like – and said it – stuff he leaves to Harry and Merlin, gladly – but he’s never difficult about it, never withdraws.

Harry finds he isn’t sure where to start, but he takes a look at Eggsy’s face, the flush, the sweat.

‘Lie down, darling.’ He fusses with Eggsy’s pillows, tucks the duvet up under his chin. ‘Can I get you a t-shirt, or are you hot?’

Eggsy smiles at him, his lips dry and pink. ‘You stalling?’

But he looks happy to be fussed over. This, really, is where it ought to end, Harry thinks. Gentle, loving fussing, at least until the nurse arrives, and he can go and log some hours in the gym. The undercurrent of – whatever this is – is difficult to explain. He isn’t embarrassed – you don’t live this long, and under such changing skies, etc. – but it is tricky. Trickier, still, to explain to someone running a fever.

He remembers what Merlin had said, all those years ago, when he’d told him.  
_And there it is, the argument that will finally persuade the nation to close down boarding schools._

‘It’s ludicrous, unfortunately. Boarding school by-product. Used to get migraines which meant spending hours in the school infirmary, nothing to do but watch the other boys. Nurses, starched sheets, the whole nine yards. I like…’ He bites the words off, checks Eggsy’s face – his eyes are almost closed, but he’s interested.

‘Go on, Harry. M’listening.’

‘Well. I mean to say – oh for heaven’s sake. It’s the being incidental. Watching someone else – surrender. Let their control go. But not to – not to take it, just to watch it go. That vulnerability.’

Eggsy makes a little noise in the back of his throat.

‘Christ, I hate spelling these things out. Takes out all the –’ Harry lets his head fall forward, so his eyes can’t catch Eggsy’s line of sight ‘… intrigue.’

Eggsy coughs out a little laugh. ‘Yeah, tell that to your cock.’

‘Well, yes, and decades of improved HR policy. Now get some sleep, really. Nothing untoward from my end, I feel entirely chastened.’

He doesn’t, of course. Nor does he mind talking about it, precisely – this curious picking through somehow easier than decades of – well, of talking round subjects low and out of earshot, of telegraphing anything not-quite-cricket with a heart in the mouth and surgical delicacy.

They’re quiet, then, for a second, until Eggsy says, ‘Honestly, knock yourself out. ‘S quite hot, innit, in a way, you getting off on me while I have a little snooze.’

And then he rolls over, and promptly falls asleep.

Eggsy, as far as Harry can ascertain, settles down quickly, another flush of heat running over his body, making him sweaty, chatty with fever, little huffs and half-words that fall into the pillow. He has slipped into a place where he’s forgotten Harry’s there, where Harry can sit in his chair and watch, as he used to perch against the mullioned windows of the school infirmary and watch the other boys in the throes of whatever ailed them.

Harry taps the side of his glasses, and Merlin sighs into his ear.

‘Make sure the nurse is delayed, please,’ he murmurs. ‘I’ll make sure he gets the pain relief when he wakes up, a drink, all the rest of it.’

‘You’re a menace, Harry Hart,’ Merlin says quietly.

He’s so pretty laid up, all the strength gone out of his muscles, his bare arms up above his head, blond hair sweated dark under the arms. He looks a little like St Sebastian like this, seductive in martyrdom – minus, of course, the arrows.

Patron saint of penetration, they’d used to joke at school, all eye rolls and secretive smiles. A little bit of harmless slang for the boys who liked it that way – Sebastian was still a name Harry slipped on happily, one of his favourite aliases.

Now, he feels as if he’s praying in front of an ecstatic vision. Harry aches between his legs, reaches down to unzip his fly, let’s his hand dip in to adjust himself, ease the pressure.

Eggsy’s body is giving off enough heat that he can feel it at this distance from the bed. He isn’t worried, particularly – Eggsy is young and healthy, this is just bad flu. It’s exciting, really, to watch the way the illness traces over the body. He just wishes he could see…

As if psychically linked – and really, he must never, ever let his mouth slip to saying that around Merlin – Eggsy kicks the duvet off.

Eggsy’s legs are strong, his thighs beautiful, and just looking at them makes Harry want to bend over something, makes him want to feel Eggsy working as he fucks into him. Now, the muscles squeeze and release, Eggsy’s thighs flushed with sweat.

Harry drags his eyes up again to Eggsy’s face, and he’s muttering, sweet urgent nothings that trace the edge between dream noise and distress.

And Eggsy’s cock is half-hard and red, twitching up from his thigh. His hips are snapping forward as if he’s seeking purchase, and Harry wants more than anything to slip his hand there, to help Eggsy out, give him something to rut helplessly against.

Harry’s never been very good at denying himself pleasures.


	2. Temperature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which temperatures are rising, and urges get the better of everyone...

He reaches his hand down delicately, stroking across Eggsy’s thigh until it comes to rest curled over Eggsy’s half-hard cock. He’s velvet-smooth and hot as sin, sticky and sweaty, and Harry leans in to chase the musky smell of him. He’s damp, too, glossy with the first little pulse of pre-come, and clammy with fever.

He makes a little strangled rabbit noise in his sleep and bucks up against Harry’s hand. It’s lovely, lewd and open and gentle, nothing at all like charming-clever awake Eggsy, who likes making Harry’s eyes go wide. This move isn’t calculated to show off, or even to gain maximum pleasure. It isn’t about Harry at all. It’s just about that light friction against Harry’s palm that’s making Eggsy’s sleeping face slack with lazy pleasure.

He lets Eggsy rut gently against him for a good few minutes, letting his own arousal wash over him, wave after wave. Eggsy won’t come this way, he doesn’t think – there isn’t quite enough friction – so it’s just enough to set him into dream-desperation, to have him blushing and whining under him. It is obscene, beautiful, the most private thing Harry thinks he’s ever seen.

‘Jesus, Harry, isn’t he looking lovely.’ And there’s none of Merlin’s previous laughter in his tone, just a sort of hushed awe that mirrors the feeling in Harry’s chest.

Harry draws his hand away for a second, watches Eggsy’s hips cant to chase the touch, hums as he runs a finger up Eggsy’s sweat-hot body, up to his collar bone and back down, watching him wriggle under the ministration.

It’s then that his vocalisations change slightly. Instead of long, low noises on the outbreath – sex noises, whether asleep or awake – Eggsy starts to whimper, little cut-off sounds that telegraph something different – something that sounds half-desperate, close to pained.

Harry’s face heats as he hears them. If Eggsy were awake, he’d be almost certain the little moans were just desperation, just unadulterated wanting, but he isn’t awake, and he can’t ask, and he is fully aware that the gentlemanly option is disengaging, but the noises are loud and pretty and he can feel his cock pulsing with the heat of them, unbelievably hard.

‘You know what he sounds like, don’t you?’ Merlin in his ear again, thoughtful and calm in the face of the irresistible noises.

‘What?’

‘Remember the Governor’s Ball in Queensland, the time you got trapped in that cupboard for hours? He sounds like you did, whining against the back of your hand, afraid you were going to wet yourself.’

‘Fucking hell, Merlin. I hope this is a private comms line.’ Harry can’t help the way his breath is unspooling, ragged and harsh. Eggsy’s twitching on the bed, whining against his touch, and Merlin is – well, laughing soft and filthy in his ear.

‘Remember that moan you let out when you eventually got to the gents?’

‘I remember you coming all over your keyboard,’ Harry breathes. ‘I remember you talking me through it, saying how well – Christ – how well I’d done to hold.’

There’s a pause, and Harry hears Merlin’s breathing, every so slightly heavier than usual, down the line. The sound of his fingers on the keyboard reminding Harry that Merlin’s working, that he’s probably guiding Bors through the finer points of tonight’s handover. If anything, it makes him harder. His fingers twitch to touch himself – somehow, he doesn’t, holds back.

‘You really think he needs?’ He’s looking at Eggsy closely – the minute lines of stress around his closed eyes, the way his lips purse, the way his hands fist, the way his hips twitch against the mattress. He’s rolled a little towards Harry, now, and his cock, still half-hard, is making little abortive thrusts against the sheets.

‘It’s certainly possible, given he’s had the saline – and look at him, squirming like that.’

‘Oh god, I should wake him, shouldn’t I, appeal to my own higher virtues and…’ Harry rubs his hands over his face, tries to remember who he is and where he is, and that life is not, in fact, a pornographic film written exclusively for his pleasure. Not today.

Merlin’s voice is dark, delicious, takes a tone Harry rarely hears, and certainly never outside the bedroom.

‘It would be terribly rude to wake him, Harry, he’s sleeping off an illness. All you can do is watch, and comfort him when he wakes up. Understand me? I want you to watch, very closely. I want you to stay on the line.’

‘Yes, Merlin,’ he breathes, his mouth moving before his brain has had time to consider a response. ‘I’ll keep watching.’

Buggering shitting Christ. He forgets, sometimes, how…. easily Merlin can slip into the spaces Harry’s often afraid to inhabit, how prettily he can sweep aside ethics and concerns in favour of Harry – of both of them – having a good time.

He’d said as much to him once, the first time he’d stayed over: _the problem, Harry, is that the world sits at my fingertips, and I’d quite like to tear it apart and feed it to you, bit by bit._

They hadn’t left the bed at all that day.

And Harry knows, with the tiny sliver of his brain that is left online, that Eggsy won’t mind. More than that, he knows that Eggsy, in fact, actively enjoys this sort of game when he’s hale and hearty – and it isn’t like they haven’t talked about it.

Wanked over it, when Eggsy was in Beijing and bored out his head. _Tell me, Harry. How’d’you feel about waking up soaked one morning, all hot wet sheets, realising I’d pissed myself in the night._

But the fantasy is different from the reality, and although Harry’s dick isn’t so sure about lofty distinctions, he does worry that Eggsy will wake up feeling shame.

Eggsy’s twisting in the sheets properly now, a shade shy of actually thrashing, and he keeps throwing an arm across his face like he’s embarrassed. He’s muttering, too, half-words interspersing the sharp little moans.

‘Lemme – need to – tell me where …’

The whole time, Harry’s had his hand running up and down, petting over Eggsy’s sides.

‘He needs to go, listen to him.’ Merlin’s voice is like velvet. ‘Asking for the loo, isn’t he?’

‘Should I help, do you think?’ Harry asks, running the palm of his hand over Eggsy’s bladder, ever so gently. ‘He feels full, Merlin.’

‘You asking me if you can press down? You want to see if you can force it out of him, hmm?’

There’s no real point in denying it.

‘Yes, Merlin.’ Harry’s other hand skates towards his fly, now, undoes it the rest of the way, frees his cock which bobs up, red and damp and desperate.

On the line, Merlin sucks in a little breath. ‘Ooh, that looks sore, doesn’t it. Been hard a while then? You’re not to touch, mind, not until the boy’s soiling himself.’

There’s a pause, Harry’s brain desperately trying to find a loophole, a way of touching himself.

‘You can press down, though. Gently. Give him a wee hand.’

So gently, a feather-light touch at first, as Harry brings his palm to rest square over Eggsy’s bladder, where he feels full, distended. Above him, Eggsy whines, his mouth opening and closing round half-formed nonsense.

Harry pushes, gently.

At the first push, Eggsy’s whine rockets up in volume, and he sits up, a little, in his sleep. It’s so sudden Harry thinks he’s woken, but he lies down again, shifts his hips agitatedly.

‘Tell him, Harry. Tell him it’s ok.’

He isn’t sure Eggsy can hear him in his sleep and he’s desperate not to wake him, but the delicate pulses of force against his bladder are driving Eggsy wild, and his desperation is obvious now, even if a lifetime of adult bladder control is standing in the way.

Harry isn’t sure he can get the words out, though, isn’t sure how to formulate such a dirty, misleading sentiment.

‘It’s ok,’ he croons, mouth warm against Eggsy’s ear. ‘You can let go if you need to, you can pee here if you need to. You can just let go, right here, right where you are, darling.’

Eggsy’s face goes quiet for a second, still and peaceful. Harry finds himself making a little shushing noise, like the sea, into the shell of Eggsy’s ear.

‘Shh, shh, shhhh,’ he whispers, and if it wasn’t so hot, so completely forbidden and taboo, he’d feel ridiculous.

There’s movement – Harry looks down, and Eggsy’s spreading his thighs, setting them against the bedding. It is, Harry realises almost immediately, an approximation of standing at a urinal, legs apart. Eggsy mewls, mutters, brings one hand down over his crotch, grabs his own cock gently, fondling it in his palm.

Harry presses on his bladder again, gentle but insistent.

Eggsy lets out a groan – so beautifully, exactly like the ones Harry hears through the wall of the loo in the morning when he’s woken up desperate – and aren’t those noises always a little thrill – and then…

‘Holy fucking Christ, Harry, he’s pissing.’ He’d almost forgotten Merlin’s presence on the line, on the feed, but as Merlin speaks Harry leans forward towards Eggsy’s crotch, makes sure the cameras are picking it all up.

And Merlin has sharp eyes: Eggsy is indeed wetting himself.

He’s got his hand cupped around his cock, and through his fingers is dribbling a steady stream of pee. It’s running over his hip-bones, droplets catching in the thatch of his pubes, spilling over his thighs and down onto the bed. It’s coming in little spurts, and in the quiet of the room it sounds shockingly loud.

Harry’s leaning so close to Eggsy’s crotch he could reach out his tongue and lick him.

And above him, sleeping Eggsy is letting out a little laugh, low and entirely unabashed, at the pleasure of finally letting go.

Without thinking, Harry wraps his hand around Eggsy’s, so that he can feel the piss coming, leaking in little shocks out between the fingers. He runs his hand softly through Eggsy’s wet thatch of hair, traces the rivulets as they run onto the sheet, pooling under his buttocks.

‘Doesn’t he piss pretty, our boy.’ Merlin says, and Harry could swear he’s touching himself, got that slight thickness to his voice.

‘Merlin – can I? I want, God, I’m so fucking hard.’

‘You want to come all over him, Harry? Come all over him whilst he’s wetting his sheets? Fucking filthy, aren’t you.’

Harry moans at that, lifts his hand from around Eggsy’s, shivers with the thrill of its wetness as he wraps it round himself. Eggsy’s hand falls away, too, and he’s just pissing, gently, into the bed, covers round his ankles, his cock twitching as the stream rises and falls.

Eggsy looks debauched. He looks across between a whore and a Victorian invalid and Harry’s so hard he might die.

He’s so hard he’s stripping himself off dormitory-quick, still-at-school-quick, quicker than Merlin’s ever seen.

‘Harry Hart’, he breathes down the line, ‘you are rubbing yourself off like a thirteen year old.’

Eggsy’s stream is slowing, the little noises he’s making are quieter now, muted and satisfied. The bed is a state. The sheets are wet, and there’s wetness pooled round the top of Eggsy’s thighs – there are mattress protectors on Kingsman beds, agents are always bleeding and fucking and generally making a mess – and when Eggsy moves there’s this little wet sound, followed by a happy little sigh –

\- and it is that sigh, really, more than anything, and the sight of him all laid out like he’s basking in it, that pushes Harry over the edge.

Harry comes, thick ropes of white fluid, pushes his cock right up next to Eggsy’s cock and comes all over him, painting his wet skin. He’s gasping with it, the noises ripped right out of him, and it goes on and on, great long shivers of pleasure as he comes all over the bed.

He knows Merlin’s watching, knows he can see it all unfolding, and the silence on the line is heavy and breathless.

Mere seconds later, Merlin comes, too, sighs his release down the line quietly, a brief guttural noise.

‘Christ, Harry,’ he says after a second.

They sit, just listening to one another breath for another minute, before Harry says ‘I should wake him, you know. Make sure he’s ok, get the bed changed.’

Merlin makes a little noise. ‘Suppose so. Shame, when he looks so… but there’s always the footage. Hope he isn’t cross with you. What a shame I won’t be able to help if he is, I’ll be busy with Bors for hours.’

His voice says ‘glad I’m not you right now’, loud and clear.

‘As if this wasn’t at your behest, darling,’ Harry manages, failing to pack any heat into it at all. They’re quiet, then.

‘Right, I’d better wake him.’

‘Nurse will be along in ten minutes.’

Harry leans over, nudges Eggsy gently on the shoulder, calls his name low until his eyes flutter open.

‘Eggsy, sweetheart.’

‘Mhhm?’ He’s groggy, mouth dry from sleep-talking. He opens his eyes, gazes sweetly up at Harry for a split second before he realises.

‘Fucking shit, Harry – Harry I’ve…’ He screws up his face.

‘I know, darling. You couldn’t help it. Perfectly common in flu patients. Nothing to be worried about.’ He makes what he hopes is a reassuring face, and not a ‘and by the way, you’re covered in my cooling spend’, face.

He obviously doesn’t manage – Eggsy swipes a hand over his crotch, then, and it comes away…

‘Harry Hart, that your jizz or mine?’

And he does have the good grace to blush, then.

‘Help me up, yeah, don’t wanna lie in my own….’ He suddenly looks up at Harry, eyes inquisitive. ‘It is my own piss though, yeah? I really…?’

Harry helps him come to sit on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.

‘Yes – although, as I said, entirely to be expected with the sort of medications you’re on…’

‘Oh, right, so you was only taking advantage? Didn’t actually stick my hand in a bucket of warm water? You boarding-school perv.’

He is, truly embarrassed, face flaming, but there’s warmth in Eggsy’s voice and a sparkle in his eyes that isn’t just fever.

‘Well, you did say I could come on you – and you pissed so prettily, darling – Christ, the noises you made.’

‘It weren’t gross? Never… not done it like that since I was little.’

‘Oh, we've all done it at one point or another,’ Harry says, airily reassuring as if wetting oneself were as humdrum as bad traffic or rain. ‘Now let’s get you washed before the nurse comes, hmm?’

Eggsy eyes him then. ‘Yeah, but you’re washing me. Better get all your come off me before medical give you a bollocking.’

He helps Eggsy up then, ignoring the way his wet thigh presses into his clean suit. He deserves that.

‘And, you owe me one.’

‘Mmm?’ He plays dumb. ‘One what?’

‘One really filthy thing, Harry. One no-questions kink, something I’ve always wanted, even if it ain’t up your street.’

‘Anything within reason, love’, Harry says, and means it entirely. ‘Now let’s get you clean. Someone, it seems, has entirely covered you in come….’

‘Can’t believe you, you absolute bloody pervert.’

‘You don’t have to – Merlin’s got the footage. We can watch it if you like, once you’re better.’

Eggsy’s naked, so there’s no disguising the little twitch of interest his cock gives at that.

‘Fucking yes, Harry. I wanna see you lose your shit over me.’

When the nurse comes in ten minutes later, he finds them both in the shower, naked, the bedsheets soaked, and Eggsy considerably less feverish and weak than he had been.

They keep him on fluids and meds for three more days, and then he’s off active duty for another five, Merlin insisting he stays at HQ ‘until you’re well enough not to turn the house into a plague pit’.

He completes three online training courses, drives Roxy absolutely up the wall by cutting into her comms when she’s in Belize, and spends several hours a day texting Harry suggestions for his favour.

‘Do you actually want to do that, Eggsy, or are you seeing how far your favour extends? Because by all means, but we’ll need to go somewhere with a bull-ring.’

‘Every day is a school day, and I’m afraid I’ve just discovered that diving masks are a somewhat a hard limit for me. And how would you even get the semen into them?’

Eventually, Harry just texts back strings of letters that sound a lot like the howls of someone who can’t get terrible images out of his brain. It cheers Eggsy up no end.

When he’s feeling a bit more chipper, Harry brings JB and they go for long, slightly unsteady walks around the gardens until Eggsy’s cough stops making him clutch his lungs.

On the day he’s released he catches Harry’s car home with him. Merlin’s already in, and something smells nice. The living room is neat, and Merlin’s left Eggsy’s favourite hoodie over the back of a chair for him to slip on before the fire’s warmed the room up.

‘Eggsy’, he says, and there’s a hug in his smile. ‘After dinner, Harry and I were wondering if you’d like to review some footage?’

‘Fuckin’ yes, Merlin’, he says happily, and then, ‘missed you too, and all.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you *so* much for reading this little filthy tale. As ever, a wee comment makes a world of difference.  
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Another attempt to boost the ws fic quota in the Kingsman fandom ;)
> 
> Please do comment, chat, scream etc if you can - it cheers me up no end, and I'm writing my way through a tricky patch atm.
> 
> Thanks are due to co-conspirators, and everyone who has chatted through this filth with me AT LENGTH. You know who you are.  
> xx


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